CHAPTER IV

OUR ARBRE DE NOËL


We bought it on the Sunday morning from old Grand'mere Gomard in the
Avenue de St. Cloud.

It was not a noble specimen of a Christmas-tree. Looked at with cold,
unimaginative eyes, it might have been considered lopsided; undersized
it undoubtedly was. Yet a pathetic familiarity in the desolate aspect of
the little tree aroused our sympathy as no rare horticultural trophy
ever could.

Some Christmas fairy must have whispered to Grand'mere to grub up the
tiny tree and to include it in the stock she was taking into Versailles
on the market morning. For there it was, its roots stuck securely into a
big pot, looking like some forlorn forest bantling among the garden
plants.

[Illustration: The Tree Vendor]

Grand'mere Gomard had established herself in a cosy nook at the foot of
one of the great leafless trees of the Avenue. Straw hurdles were
cunningly arranged to form three sides of a square, in whose midst she
was seated on a rush-bottomed chair, like a queen on a humble throne.
Her head was bound by a gaily striped kerchief, and her feet rested